The Last Dance
by Hidden River
Summary: Very short story inspired by a dream I had last night (yeah, I know, sounds corny). I haven't written fan-fiction in years, but it hit me hard and I wanted to get it written down before it faded.


Sarah Williams gazed tiredly around the hospital room, surrounded by a labyrinth of medical equipment, charts, sympathy cards, balloons, and a plush dog that reminded her of Merlin, her childhood companion. So much stuff, just for her.

She could hear voices in the hallway just outside her door. There were the soft, sorrowful murmurs from her favorite granddaughter, Jennifer, a medical student. Now it was the deep bass rumble of her brother, Toby. He sounded angry and impatient. Poor Toby. He'd always leaned on her in hard times, and now he had to be the pillar of strength for the family.

A voice she recognized as belonging to one of her doctors spoke more loudly and she could just make out the words, "…organ failure…comfortable…holding on by sheer force of will…"

She smiled at that. She was a fighter, always was, always would be.

Jennifer and the doctor came in. Jennifer gave her a lopsided, forced smile. "Hi, Nana. How are you feeling now?"

Sarah gave a noncommittal shrug. It was difficult to find the breath to talk, so she saved it for the important things now. The truth was that she _hurt_. Everything hurt. As luck would have it, a sharp pain rose in her gut just at that moment, and she winced.

"Doctor…", Jennifer said, but the doctor was already on the move, reaching for a new IV bag of something or other.

"Ms. Williams, I'm going to increase the morphine in your drip, so you should feel more comfortable very soon."

"Thank you, doctor," Jennifer whispered.

Sarah smiled fondly at her granddaughter. So much like herself when she was young. Headstrong, idealistic, ready to take on the world. Well, she was _still_ all those things — but Jennifer looked like her, too, with her long dark hair and a look of wide-eyed innocence that hid a deep reservoir of inner strength and determination.

The resemblance would be difficult to spot now. Sarah's own hair was just a ragged shock of thin white-gray, her once-radiant skin covered with liver spots and layers of wrinkles. Sarah sometimes marveled at how her body had grown so old, when she still thought of herself as a girl so much of the time.

On impulse, she reached out, patted Jennifer's hand gently, and smiled. Jennifer smiled back and sat down, holding her hand, but the worry was evident in her eyes.

The morphine was starting to do its thing. The pain was lessening, and the world became hazy. Sarah closed her eyes. _I'll rest, just for a bit_ , she thought. She drifted for a bit, enjoying the lack of pain while it lasted.

"Hello, Sarah."

She knew that voice. It was _him_. Jareth. No, not now!

He'd come for her when she was still very young; she'd somehow found the strength to break free of him and she'd thought then that that would be the end of it.

But he'd come back since then. He came when she was struggling in college, and again when she found herself in a job for which she felt underqualified. He came when she was a new mother and hadn't had a decent night's sleep in months. The last time she'd seen him, it was some years back, when her beloved husband had passed away.

He always came to her in her dreams, and always when she was at her weakest and most vulnerable. He always encouraged her to give up, to stop trying to be strong and responsible, to stop fighting for what she _knew_ was right and just surrender to him.

She opened her eyes. There he was, standing at a distance from her in a misty emptiness, a soft smile playing at his lips.

"No!" she screamed, "Why do you always do this at the worst possible time? I'm sick! I'm…so tired. I don't have the strength for this, and of course, here you are. It's not f—"

She stopped herself from saying "fair", but it was too late. She winced inwardly, knowing that she'd just given him the ammunition he needed.

He chuckled softly. "All these years, and you're still the girl I loved."

She glared at him angrily, steeling herself for a confrontation, but, as she did so, the pain began to return.

"Sarah," he said, quietly. "Sarah, it's time to let go."

"You have no power over me!" she yelled and shut her eyes, willing herself to wake up.

"I know. We established that a long, long time ago."

She opened her eyes again in surprise and looked at him. Was it her imagination, or was there something different in the way he was speaking to her now? His eyes, which had always seemed so cruel, now held a hint of compassion. His soft smile seemed almost gentle, rather than mocking.

"I…can't. They need me," she whispered.

"Who? Your family?" He chuckled again. "They will be alright. You taught them well."

She looked away, unable to meet his eyes now. She knew he was simply speaking the truth, but there had to be a catch. He had always tried to deceive her and take advantage of whatever weakness had taken hold of her in her life.

"I won't let you win," she said.

"Sarah, don't you see? You've _already_ won. You won a long time ago, and I love you all the more for it. But now, it's time for you to let go."

There was something in the unexpected softness in his voice that made her look into his eyes again. She wasn't imagining it. He _was_ different, this time. The love that he'd always professed but never shown was now evident in the way he looked at her, and in the way he spoke to her and yet kept his distance, waiting for her to come to him.

He held out his hand to her. "Dance with me, Sarah."

She regarded him for a moment, torn between duty and release. Then, slowly, she walked toward him, and took his hand.

Music started playing somewhere in the mist. They began to dance, formally, in intricate steps which she somehow knew as if she'd been dancing them for her entire life. Other dancers appeared around them, as they had when she'd been under his spell so many years ago. This time, though, the dancers seemed joyful, their masks a playful expression of possibility rather than the grotesque parodies she remembered from her youth.

She circled round and round with Jareth, her long, dark hair whipping to and fro, her white gown whisking around her as she turned. She allowed herself a smile, and Jareth smiled back.

The music slowed and softened. The lights dimmed. Sarah allowed Jareth to hold her close as they slow-danced to a beat which became slower and more unsteady as the dance went on. She rested her head on his shoulder and let him lead, as the other dancers faded away in the mist, as the music became quieter, and the light slowly disappeared.


End file.
